Incident Behind the Curtain
by Skullbank
Summary: RosGuil. Rosencrantz & Guildenstern are Dead fic. A near tragedy opens Ros and Guil's eyes, but will their love be enough to get them through the play alive?
1. Incident Behind the Curtain

**Incident Behind the Curtain**

Disclaimer: This being a _Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead_ fic, Guil and Cranz's characterization is credited to Tom Stoppard, and before that they were credited to Shakespeare. And I'm not Stoppard, nor am I Shakespeare. Or both. I'm definitely not both.

(A/N: Yes, this is another alternate-ending story. Being an R&G fan, I had a psychological need to write one, so I finally came up with this. I've also decided to continue it. I'm not sure if that's a good or bad thing at the moment, but we'll see. Is this the only R&G fic to have more than one chapter? As far as I've seen. Oh, and it's slashy. Have fun, kids.)

_The stage opens to darkness._

_Slowly, it brightens, one light at a time. It's informal, as though the equipment's being tested. GUILDENSTERN is on stage and he watches the lights as they come on, a bit perplexed. Opposite him, ROSENCRANTZ lies still on the ground._

GUIL (_still watching the lights_): This is an odd way for the sun to rise. Or, perhaps it's the stars coming out, but they're very bright for stars. Although, I'm becoming inclined to believe that the phases of the day we've been perceiving are all fake. (_He looks behind him._) Rosencrantz? Where's he gone off to?

_And then, he spots ROS. GUIL pauses, stunned for a moment. Slowly, he makes his way to ROS and kneels._

Rosencrantz? Rosen- (_GUIL shakes him a little, but there's no response_.) Rosen-? You can't- You can't be… Oh, God. Rosencrantz…You're not- (_Small pause_.) Rosen..? (_Hesitating at first, GUIL begins to caress ROS's hair gently, not sure if he's going to cry_.) But, why should I be surprised? This is what's supposed to happen. "Without delay…should those bearers, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, be put to death…" (_Small pause_.) And yet, when I found myself still alive, I figured that we were all right, that we'd been spared. I never imagined…

_Takes a breath, shifts. Pause. Takes another breath_.

This isn't possible. Could it be that the king decided only to put you to death? But, why would he distinguish between us? Did he choose at random? Perhaps he meant to put me to death, but got us mixed up.

_He pauses to regain composure._

Or, maybe this is hell, and somewhere you're experiencing this same scenario, trapped in a non-descript place, alone with my dead body… But, have we really done something wrong enough to deserve this? We were without free will or choice, at the mercy of the elements, pawns in a chess game, yet we're punished because we were at the wrong place at the wrong time. I suppose we… I suppose we could have tried helping Hamlet instead of making excuses to distance ourselves from the reality of his execution. I admit it wasn't very noble.

_GUIL jumps up and approaches one side of the stage. He stops, turns, and approaches the other side, but doesn't like it either. He looks behind him, above him, and below him, but none of it looks any better. Lost, he retires to the center and sits down._

Maybe… this is where we're supposed to die. There is no England, no king; I never thought there was. We simply exit the scene and then depart from our earthly vessels to begin the process all over again. You just got here before me, and at any moment… (_Pauses tensely, but nothing happens. GUIL becomes desperate_.) It doesn't make any sense! Why am I still here? Alive, alone? (_Jumps to his feet_.) Perhaps I was too late, or Ros was too early? Maybe Death came for both of us, but he swung his scythe before I had arrived. I missed my appointment with Thanatos, my only chance to leave this mortal plane, and I'm doomed to walk it until Judgment Day… And… (_Turns to watch ROS. Small pause, then he continues with a quiver in his voice._) And you. I ignored you, didn't I? I didn't even see you leave. Maybe if I had… (_Paces_.) This is no time for regrets. What's done is done. (_Small pause; more pacing_.) No regrets. (_Even more pacing_.) And yet… That's all I have! Regrets… If I wasn't so damn occupied with rationalizing things, maybe I could have gotten us out of there. You thought we should have been doing something constructive and I thought that was useless. We could have… we could have gone looking for someone, anyone, instead of waiting around. Who cares if they mixed us up and were chasing us around all night, or all week, or forever? At least we would still have been… And, maybe in the confusion, they'd have found someone else to escort Hamlet to England; someone else to doom. Being stuck in that castle forever doesn't seem so bad anymore…

_Small hiatus, during which GUIL turns his attention to everything around him, one by one. But, finally, he turns his attention back to ROS._

There's no use in telling you now, but… I cared about you, a lot. You weren't always the biggest help, but I enjoyed your company, your innocent optimism, your smile… And, you cared about me, too, didn't you? All you wanted was… to make me happy. I should have told you that I appreciated it… (_Getting desperate; yelling at the heavens_.) Why am I stuck here?! Is this eternity?! Is this hell?! What am I supposed to be contemplating?! Am I supposed to admit it, admit my sin?! Yes, I shunned love, I denied it. He could have well loved me back, I'm almost certain, but, in the end, he never knew. Is that not enough?! Is my regret not punishment enough?! (_Collapses to his knees, opposite ROS._) Fate is cruel… A constant road of regret, always headed towards a sudden stop, always towards darkness…

_While GUIL is shouting these last few lines, ROS begins to stir. Just some weak movements of the head at first, but as GUIL quiets, ROS completely rolls over, though he's apparently still asleep face-first on the stage floor. GUIL takes no notice of him as he sobs, cape wrapped around mournfully. He jumps as ROS's voice reaches him, muffled by the cloak that's ended up covering his head._

ROS (_softly, relaying these words through a dream_): …a minor character in Shakespeare's "Hamlet"… major character in Stoppard's… literary fatality comes from… events already decided…

_His dead friend not only turning over suddenly but also speaking suitably startles GUIL; yet in the same moment he's equally intrigued by what he hears. Intrigue wins and he pauses for a moment, listening._

…Though they resist accepting… human beings are doomed to die as soon as they enter the… skip that speech… go right to the killing… don't wish to imply that ALL Danes…have their college buddies executed…

_At "skip that speech" the interest is lost and GUIL slowly crawls up to ROS. He gently folds the cloak off of ROS's head and is surprisingly calm compared to his actions a moment before. ROS being alive is such a relief that the how and why doesn't matter so much at the moment. His friend quiets as GUIL places a hand on ROS's forehead._

GUIL (_musing quietly to himself_): The fate of human mortality is a road, always headed in the same direction to the same destination. But, sometimes detours can be taken and the travel length can be altered. We'll end up in the same place eventually; we just take a different way… (_Smiles sadly to himself_.) I didn't even check for a pulse. I've truly become distanced from reality.

_ROS opens his eyes._

ROS: Oh…wow…

GUIL: Are you all right?

ROS: I just had the most amazing feeling…

GUIL (_hopefully_): Of what?

ROS: …I don't really remember.

Guil (_gentle sarcasm, though disappointed_): Of course, why would you?

_Pause._

_ROS slowly sits up, gazing in wonder at his surroundings._

ROS: Where are we?

GUIL: Hard to say. We could be somewhere; although it's just as plausible that we're nowhere. (_He regards ROS fondly for a moment, although ROS has become occupied with watching nothing in the completely opposite direction. GUIL then takes his hands and his attention._) Are you alive? I mean, truly? This all seems so casual. It'd be very cruel for this to be a dream or some sort of hallucination. (_ROS only stares back in response, bewildered by the proposal._) Not that you would know, I suppose. Do the demons and phantoms of our mind know that they are? Of our mind, that is. I wouldn't think so, considering they're just images created by our subconscious. Which means, we ourselves are them, but don't consciously know what they are. So, therefore, hallucinations don't know that they are. The world could be just a figment of our mind and we wouldn't know it.

_Small pause._

ROS: I had a dream.

GUIL: All right.

ROS: It was really something; a bit amusing, a bit tragic, very confusing. We were summoned by a king to glean what afflicted a friend, who we really didn't know, and there were players to draw his attention to, and we were on a boat, and pirates attacked it. And then, get this, we were ordered to be killed by an English king! All I can say is, I'm glad-

GUIL: -it wasn't a dream.

ROS: Excuse me?

GUIL: You're excused.

ROS: No, what you said-

GUIL: It wasn't a dream. I'm afraid your hallucinations are very real.

ROS: You can't be- (_Suddenly becomes panicked at the realization._) Are we dead, then?! Is this it?! Oh, it's so empty; I don't want to stay here forever!

GUIL: (_Takes ROS in his arms._) It's all right… There, now… We'll figure this out. I'll figure it out. I just need you to help me, okay? (_ROS nods, nearly in tears._) Now, do you know what happened right after you disappeared? You were saying something about being relieved, and..?

ROS: I'm not sure. (_Small pause_.) Well, there was darkness, and… more darkness…

GUIL: There was darkness for me, too, but I didn't end up unconscious on the floor. Did something hit you? Did you feel anything?

ROS: No, I… (_Pauses, growing embarrassed._) I think…

GUIL: Yes?

ROS: Well, I was so sure that I was about to die when everything went dark. I thought that, maybe, something might chop my head off or stab me at any moment. And, I think I became so scared that I…

GUIL: Yes?

ROS: I fainted.

_Pause._

GUIL (_flatly, acidly_): You what?

ROS: And, I must have hit my head on the floor pretty hard, because I have this nasty bump-

_ROS stops suddenly as GUIL brings back his arm in a quick jerk, but restrains himself right before he delivers the blow. ROS holds his breath as his terrified eyes meet GUIL's flaming ones._

GUIL (_through his teeth_): Do you have any idea-? I can't believe…

ROS: Did you think..?

_The look GUIL gives him is answer enough. GUIL gets up and heads downstage._

GUIL: I was so stupid…

ROS (_softly_): I'm sorry… Guil, really, I- (_ROS pauses abruptly as he realizes what this could mean. Perhaps he remembers something his subconscious heard as he slept. After a moment he rises and cautiously joins GUIL downstage._) So…so, have we decided if we're dead, yet?

GUIL: Don't be stupid.

ROS: I just wanted to… But, really, I mean, how are we supposed to know?

GUIL (_giving way a little_): Hard to say, really… (_Small pause._) You said something earlier, in your sleep, about events already being decided, and humans not accepting their fate. Do you remember what you were dreaming about right before you woke up?

ROS: No. I thought reality had been the dream, apparently. Why?

GUIL: Because it adds to something I've just recently become aware of and… (_He taps ROS's head._) I think, somewhere, deep in the recesses of your mind, you might know more than I do.

ROS (_humbly_): Oh, I doubt that.

GUIL: Maybe not intellectually, but intellect isn't always the best measure for intelligence… (_Faltering._) What- what I'm trying to do, I guess, is apologize, for almost hitting you.

ROS (_ever optimistic_): That's all right.

GUIL: And, I was really upset when I thought you were gone. (_Gives ROS a sincere look._) I'd really miss you. That's what I'm trying to say.

ROS (_hopefully_): Anything else?

_Pause._

GUIL: No, not really.

ROS: Oh. (_They both look at their feet, thinking the same thoughts._) So, now what should we do?

GUIL: What _can_ we do?

ROS (_looks to either side_): Go off stage?

GUIL: What?

ROS (_gestures towards the wings_): Off stage. You know, not on stage…

GUIL: Wait, you know about us being-?

ROS: Yes.

_ROS smiles at the surprised reaction he's gotten out of GUIL and quickly decides to act on the brief confidence it's given him. He rushes up and intertwines their hands._

GUIL (_startled, though he can't hide his hopefulness_): What are you doing?

ROS (_undaunted_): Nothing.

_Their eyes meet; anything that they could possibly say about how they feel is relayed in this gaze. They seem to be considering a kiss, but hesitate, and after a few moments the overture begins to play. They listen in wonder. ROS sighs._

Must we go through this again?

GUIL (_coming out of his stunned elation_): It seems so… (_He wraps his arms around ROS's waist._) However, something seems a little different this time.

ROS (_playfully_): Perhaps.

GUIL: Do you remember the first time we were summoned and stopped to flip coins by the side of the road?

ROS: No.

GUIL: Neither do I, because there was never a first time. It was merely an idea, and then became part of a play. It was never an actual event we experienced, it was written. Still, there must be some point where we can rewrite the script, where we can say no… But, we never realize it until it's too late.

ROS: But, think, have we ever been this conscious of our situation, (_sly grin_) either one?

GUIL: No, I guess not. You think there's something in that?

ROS: I do.

_At his words, the overture comes to a close._

GUIL (_rushed_): How do you feel?

ROS: I've felt better.

GUIL: Confident?

ROS: As I'll ever be.

_They wait for the curtain to rise, but it doesn't. GUIL grows anxious and pulls a coin out of his bag. He flips it over his shoulder._

GUIL: What is it?

ROS: Heads.

_Pause. _

_GUIL repeats the process._

ROS: Tails.

_Small pause as they look at each other._

GUIL: There's definitely something in that.

ROS (_picks up the coins, handing them back to GUIL_): What do you think it is?

GUIL (_fond smile_): How about you tell me for a change?

ROS (_taken back_): Really? All-all right. Maybe… maybe… there's nothing special about this day. (_GUIL paces, as though these were his words._) Everything's normal. (_GUIL nods._) And we're not going to suddenly be caught up in a bizarre scenario that leads directly to a tragic fate… But, how can this mean anything if the play hasn't even started yet?

_GUIL pauses, as though the hitch were in his own thoughts._

GUIL: True. This isn't sorting out as neatly as I thought it would.

_ROS falls despondently to his knees._

ROS: Where's it going to end?

_GUIL comes up behind him, wrapping his arms around ROS's shoulders._

GUIL: It needs to begin before it can end.

ROS: It needs to end before it can begin.

_Pause. _

_ROS gets up, gently separating from GUIL._

Maybe… we just need to accept things the way they are.

GUIL: What?

ROS: We have each other and eternity, don't we? Maybe we go around in circles and end up the same way every time, but if that's what we're given, then so be it.

GUIL: I thought we'd know better next time, and the time before.

_ROS had stopped in front of GUIL to listen to this last musing, and he suddenly has another burst of confidence. Without hesitation, he quickly pulls GUIL into a kiss._

ROS (_slowly releasing_): Maybe, maybe not.

_GUIL stares at ROS a moment._

GUIL: Yes… yes, I suppose I could try dealing with that. (_Another stare._) Are you really Rosencrantz?

ROS (_blinks_): I- I suppose. Am I not acting like myself? The bump's left me feeling a little off, so I'm sorry if-

GUIL: No, no, no, it's all right. I believe I'm still experiencing a slight state of disbelief.

_During this, the curtain has begun to rise, and by the time they notice it it's half way up. To their surprise, down stage is occupied by fallen bodies; it is the end of Hamlet. The Prince's body is not present, however. ROS and GUIL watch the scene in silent surprise for a moment, when a "peal of ordnance" is suddenly shot off stage. GUIL jumps; ROS screams. HORATIO re-enters, apparently drawn back by ROS's yell._

HOR: Rosencrantz and Guildenstern? I just received word of your executions, and yet, here you are. The ambassador must have been mistaken.

GUIL: Must have been.

ROS: Gravely. (_This receives a strange look from GUIL._)

HOR: More than I can say for the royal household.

GUIL: That the ambassador was mistaken?

HOR: That deaths, apparent or not, were mistaken.

GUIL (_understanding_): That lives were spared.

ROS (_watching the bodies_): What could have so suddenly caused the demise of the entire royal family? And then some…

HOR: Although you were here as it happened, you're no doubt confused by all that has occurred. Come, good sirs, and I'll fulfill Lord Hamlet's last wish by repeating this tragic history…

_He leads them off-stage, and ROS and GUIL follow hand-in-hand._

_…The stage blacks out._

(A/N: If you're wondering why I keep switching between calling Rosencrantz "Ros" and "Cranz," it's because I don't like calling him Ros, but I do in the actual fic for consistency's sake. Cranz's random muttering in his sleep is bits borrowed from the RAGAD eNotes literature guide, except the bits after "skip that speech," which are from the _Complete Works of William Shakespeare Abridged_.)

1. Incident Behind the Curtain2. Out of the Loop3. The Last Play4. It Was Written Next >

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	2. Out of the Loop

**Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Out of the Loop**

** (…And lice-free since 1967!)**

Disclaimer: I'm still not Stoppard, Shakespeare, or both.

(A/N: If you haven't figured it out by now, I've decided to continue the story. While Stoppard's original work has the theme of an inevitable end, mine tries to counter it with some sappy 'love survives' theme. The first chapter is about Cranz and Guil's 'awakening,' so to speak, and now they're going to be sucked out of their simple little lives by fate once again. And remember the slash? Knew you would.)

_In an indistinct place of little or no character, two ELIZABETHANS are doing laundry._

_But, you know the gig by now._

_ROS takes a shirt out of a wash bucket as GUIL rambles on; they're apparently in the middle of another nonsensical conversation._

GUIL: Like, crash; I've already used crash twice so I have to never use that word again and use something else, like… Bash, I can only say bash twice.

ROS: You already said it twice.

GUIL: …Agh!

_ROS looks at the shirt in his hands thoughtfully; there's something different about it, but he's not quite sure what. ROS shrugs and hangs it on the clothesline strung across the stage._

ROS: So, you can't say the onomatopoeia for something falling more than twice.

GUIL: Right.

ROS: …How come?

GUIL: How come? What have we just been talking about?

_Small pause._

ROS: I don't remember.

GUIL: Of course. I might as well be talking to myself.

_GUIL huffily goes to his mug that's sitting on the stage and tries to drink from it, but finds it empty. He throws it off-stage._

ROS (_coming up to GUIL timidly_): Um… Hey. (_Gives GUIL a smile._)

GUIL: Hey.

ROS: Something wrong?

GUIL: Oh… just the repetition of daily life, I suppose. Mundane reality.

ROS: Oh?

_ROS sits on GUIL's lap; GUIL accepts him gently._

GUIL: Well, one might consider, for example, the fact that we've been doing our laundry everyday.

_ROS looks at the clothesline; there are only two shirts hanging on it._

ROS: True.

_As he's saying this, the PLAYER walks onstage, unnoticed._

GUIL: And two or three times a day we've-

PLAYER: Am I interrupting something?

GUIL: Gah!

_ROS falls off of GUIL's lap simultaneous with the cry. GUIL jumps up to face the PLAYER, remembers ROS, pulls him up, and brings him along._

GUIL: Long time no see. Have fun in England?

PLAYER: Not as much fun as you two have been having, apparently.

_ROS smiles, but GUIL is defensive._

GUIL: What are you doing here?

PLAYER: Acting.

GUIL: As are we.

PLAYER: So you've caught on?

ROS: Yes. We know we're actors, and we know that our fate it written. We have our exits and our entrances…

PLAYER (_edgy_): And that doesn't bother you?

ROS: Why should it? We've come to accept it and have been doing okay for ourselves so far.

PLAYER (_down his throat_): Accepted it, have you? Think you understand, have it figured out, do you?

_GUIL, the protector in the relationship, comes between ROS and the PLAYER. He gives ROS's hand a squeeze behind his back._

GUIL (_collected_): There's no need for harassment. We really only pretend to understand, if that's your problem.

PLAYER (_calming_): No, no… So, you realize you're in a play?

GUIL: Yes.

PLAYER: That is, technically, within another play?

ROS (_coming out from behind GUIL_): Yes.

GUIL: But you, sir, are in a play within a play within a play. If anyone's confused around here…

PLAYER: On the contrary… (_His thought process seems to change abruptly._) Do you know what this play is, was, about?

ROS: Rosencrantz and Guildenstern?

PLAYER: …Are Dead! The parodying of Shakespeare's play is used to show the inevitability of death! The question is, if Rosencrantz and Guildenstern's deaths were inevitable, what are they still doing here?

ROS: Laundry.

_Pause._

PLAYER (_resigning_): I have no response.

GUIL: We are being courtiers in King Fortinbras's castle. We do occasional courtier… (_searching for the word_) …duties, and we even have our own room right up…

_GUIL turns to point to the room, but finds the character-less backdrop instead. In this instant he realizes that him and ROS have been doing laundry, and looking like idiots, on a stage with a clothesline strung across it, an empty wash bucket, and shirts that had never so much as gotten wet._

_Stunned pause._

ROS: Odd. (_Regards a shirt brightly._) No lice.

GUIL: Not this again… The play thing.

ROS (_as though he invented it_): The play thing!

GUIL (_confronting the PLAYER_): You have something to do with this, don't you?

PLAYER (_laughing_): Oh, Guildenstern; you may be the brains of this outfit, but that isn't saying much.

GUIL (_stifled anger_): All right, so whatever's written is what will happen. You still haven't told us why you're here.

PLAYER: Because I am.

ROS: Because it was written?

PLAYER: Of course.

GUIL: But, were you written a motive?

PLAYER: Perhaps, and perhaps I was written to be enigmatic.

ROS (_indignant_): You can't use that as an excuse.

PLAYER: Oh, can I?

ROS: You don't believe in freewill at all?

PLAYER: If I'm written to.

_Small pause._

ROS: This is getting a bit over my head.

PLAYER: Don't strain yourself too much.

GUIL (_cutting in_): Look, we appreciate you visiting us, Player, we really do. And as much as we have been enjoying your badgering, insults, and cryptic messages, I do believe it's time we got back to the castle.

_GUIL grabs the shirts and ROS's hand, making to leave._

PLAYER: That won't work, you know.

GUIL: And why not, pray tell?

PLAYER: You can't just exit in the middle of a scene. That's not how it's written.

_As he's saying this, the PLAYER takes down the clothesline and tosses it and the bucket offstage._

GUIL: After all you said, you suddenly act like you know what's going on?

_They meet midstage, at each other's throats._

Do you have influence around here, or do you just have big words?

PLAYER: I'd be careful where you delve. I believe you, or, should I say, you two have your own secret you don't wish to reveal to the court.

GUIL (_nervy_): Nonsense, everyone does it.

PLAYER: Yes, but not publicly, or formally announced. And I wouldn't count on love to bring you back a second time.

_The PLAYER quickly and abruptly exits. ROS and GUIL exchange glances._

ROS: That can't be what this is about, can it?

_Suddenly, OPHELIA runs on stage in some alarm, holding up her skirts- followed by HAMLET. ROS and GUIL re-exchange frantic glances._

GUIL: Good God.

_…The scene blacks out._

(A/N: Sadly, Cranz and Guil's opening conversation is based on a real one I've had. Cranz's first two lines are what I said, and I seriously can't remember why my friend decided she couldn't use the onomatopoeia for something falling more than twice.

And so the idea, at the moment, is to get Cranz and Guil through their play once more, and hopefully with a satisfying ending. Stay tuned.)


	3. The Last Play

**The Last Play**

Disclaimer: My last name still doesn't start with S.

(A/N: Well, here we go; this chapter has the most slash yet. And I'd like to thank all you reviewer-people, you rock! )

Ros awoke in the dark of night to find that something was resting on his head, namely an arm. He last remembered the room being dimly lit by a few candles as he listened to Guil chat with some of his courtier friends outside of their room (too long and in too friendly of a manner, in his opinion) and now it was dark and he was disoriented. When he entered their room alone that evening, he had originally considered sleeping in his own bed, but his partner's bed proved more familiar and inviting, and he was apparently joined later for similar reasons. Ros blinked at his surroundings for a moment, the dark shapes of the furniture and hazily illuminated curtains, until he finally comprehended. He moved his head out from under Guil's arm and watched the dark figure next to him stir for a moment and finally settle again. The man's serene features faced him and Ros watched the lowered eyelids and slightly turned down mouth, the lips parted just a bit. Slowly, he shifted closer to Guil and curled up with his hands closed against his own chest. He breathed in his lover's scent, though barely; it was becoming Ros's essence, too, and he could only just make it out. Coming closer, he touched his forehead to Guil's warm chest, feeling him take in slow, rhythmic breathes, until his calmed to match it.

Ros hated listening to Guil casually having conversations with others. Everyday at feast he seemed surrounded by friends; people Ros had never seen before would greet Guil like he was their best friend in the world. They were surrounded by many in the castle each day, but Ros had greeted few and actually had a conversation with fewer. His partner, on the other hand, discussed up a storm with anyone who would listen. "You should talk to people," Guil had told him, "Make some friends; I'm sure it's safe to now that we're back in a some what stable reality." Ros smiled and nodded that he'd try, but in truth he didn't really want to, and felt somewhat betrayed that Guil did.

He sighed, becoming uncomfortable in his position and shifted onto his back. Yes, he selfishly wanted Guil all to himself, and had a woman's jealousy when others fraternized with him. He shifted again. It bothered him, bothered him to no end to see Guil enjoying himself with others. And yet, when day was done, it was the room him and Ros shared that Guil still came back to, their bed he returned to. It was only Ros he gave sweet words to and sweeter kisses to; gentle looks and gentle touches. He spoke to many people, Guil admitted, but it was Ros alone who he really talked to, bared his feelings out to. Shouldn't that be enough?

"Cranz?" A hand smoothed his hair. "Are you alright?" Ros turned to see Guil's eyes awake and watching him.

"You were moving around a lot; did you have a nightmare?"

"No, I was awake," Ros breathed, hesitating to ask if he'd woken him; it was obvious he had.

"Is your leg bothering you again?"

A little more than a month earlier Ros had nearly fallen down one of the longer flights of stairs that snaked the outside of the castle. Guil was there to catch him before he got very far, but Ros still managed to do a number on his knee. It hurt almost too much to walk on for a week or so (Guil nursed him to no end), but it still gave him trouble once in a while, though not as much trouble as the near fatale experience gave Guil's mind. He was constantly disturbed by thoughts of what would have happened had he not been there to save him.

"No," Ros answered, "It's alright, I'm just… uncomfortable." Large, textured fingers streamed through his hair in response. They caressed his scalp up from the back of his neck, letting it feel the cool night air; dry, warm lips found his nose, then his cheek. Ros looked up, smiling with his eyes. He placed a hand at the base of Guil's jaw just under his ear and reached up to kiss his chin. The chin lowered and both pairs of lips met.

"Better now?" Guil breathed, softly brushing Ros's bangs his from face and behind his ear. Ros gave him a drowsy, squinty-eyed smile, and then curled up again to bury himself in Guil's arms. The fingers brushed through his hair a few more moments to make sure all was well, and then he adjusted the blanket around them and settled around Ros for the night.

Almost everyday, without fail, the very early morning watchmen managed to wake Ros up when they switched duties with the evening watchmen. This time it was a sentry who thought it was the perfect hour to whistle a merry tune (or, more appropriately, a merry off-tune) as he strolled down their corridor. He soon met up with others, who considered it a good place to chat. Ros hid his head under the blanket, trying to block the voices out, but they still rang clear. A traveling troupe of players had been invited to perform in court. Finally, some worthwhile entertainment. Laughter. During or after the show? More laughter… The voices faded and were forgotten.

GUIL: …I told you not to talk to them, didn't I? I said, 'Don't say a word to that queen," but you did anyway.

ROS: I couldn't help it! They spoke to us and the next thing I knew I was speaking in that gibberish again.

_It's mid-Act 1 and ROS and GUIL are abandoned. ROS crosses the stage opposite GUIL and sits at the foot._

GUIL (_picks himself up_): Well, there has to be someway out of here. Yes, I'm quite sure.

_GUIL cautiously investigates the wings as ROS lies down, covering himself with his cloak._

I mean, we know what's going to happen, don't we? They can't catch us by surprise this time; we're high and dry already. We just need a plan and… (_Notices ROS's despondency._) And by _we_ I thought perhaps you could help me out.

_Still no response. GUIL approaches ROS's silent lump of cloak and kneels next to it. Gently, he folds the cloth from his head._

ROS: I was helpless. I vowed to not let myself get caught up in this play, but I had no control. My actions were independent of my will.

GUIL (_pulling ROS up_): Don't let it get to you; we'll be all right. We just… need to understand the rules around here. They obviously know something that we don't.

ROS (_clinging to GUIL_): Rules? But, it's written.

GUIL: Words are words, and scripts are merely suggestions to the experienced actor.

ROS: Are we experienced?

GUIL: I should think so.

_Pause._

ROS: Well, what are we going to do?

GUIL: We shall… go off stage. That way, when they come on to exchange lines with us, we won't be here, and they'll either be unable to continue or go on without us. We're not all that necessary anyway.

_ROS pauses to ponder this, but then alarm grows in his eyes._

ROS: But what if, perhaps, if we no longer exist in the play, we no longer exist at all?

GUIL: Don't be silly; we're living people of flesh and blood. We can't not exist just because others think we don't. If that were true, every time someone left our sight they would cease to exist until the next time we saw them. And, as we speak, many people can't see us or even know we existed in the first place, but we continue to, don't we? Although there is some truth in this "written" theory, don't let it go to your head too much. (_Takes a second look at ROS._) It's making you pale.

_ROS stands and crosses the stage again. His left leg gives him trouble as he walks on it._

ROS (_growing frantic_): This is all the same, Guil, all the same! Nothing's changed. We haven't altered our fate at all. (_GUIL stands and approaches ROS as he continues without notice._) All we do is sit and talk, and the play will continue as it always does and it will all end the same!

GUIL (_in front of him, quietly_): Your leg's bothering you.

ROS: We have no free will or control. We're going to die, Guil, and we know it and can't do a thing about it, because we're just Rosencrantz and Guildenstern…

_As ROS turns away, his knee gives out and he falls backwards into GUIL's arms, who were expecting him._

GUIL (_helping ROS sit_): Just rest for now. If we know what's going to happen, why should we be worried about it?

_GUIL begins to stretch ROS's troubled leg; it's obviously a routine they go through every time this happens. ROS hisses a bit in pain, but it lasts only for the first few moments. _

ROS (_a voice on the wind_): Do you think… that maybe…

GUIL: Hm?

ROS: That maybe… we're already dead, and we just keep re-experiencing the events that led up to our deaths in hope that we can change them?

_The thought makes GUIL pause._

GUIL: What makes you think that?

ROS: Because this whole thing's just so damn bizarre!

GUIL: Blunt. (_Small pause._) But, we managed to get back to reality, didn't we? If only for a short time.

ROS: And what if that was just a… a dream?

GUIL: That our spirits recessed into our subconscious for a short while to rest, you mean? Cranz, I've never known you to lose hope so easily.

_Pause._

ROS: I don't think I'm well.

GUIL: You don't have to completely doubt your well-being just because of a few skeptic thoughts.

ROS: I mean I feel ill.

GUIL: Oh. You're right, you look feverish. (_Feels ROS's forehead._) Cranz, you _are_ feverish!

ROS: I thought so.

GUIL: Why didn't you tell me?

ROS: I didn't want to worry you.

GUIL: Were you going to go through the whole play like this? (_He looks around, downheartedly._) Not that I have anything to aid you with.

_ROS leans against GUIL's shoulder, practically falling asleep on the spot._

Here. (_He gently shifts ROS to lay down with his head resting on GUIL's lap._) Just sleep for now, all right? I'll figure out a way to get us out of this. (_He watches his love with sympathy, then begins using his sleeve to dab the sweat from ROS's forehead_.) I'll figure out a way…

_Surprisingly, the PLAYER followed by the rest of his troupe, enters the scene. GUIL looks ready to jump up and yell, "YOU!" but can't and only stares at them._

PLAYER: I've reconsidered.

GUIL: On which scene to make your entrance? It's only Act 1, you know.

PLAYER (_acidly_): I wasn't speaking to you. (_Back to TRAGEDIANS_.) I want you to… No, that won't work.

_As the PLAYER begins to pace, the other TRAGEDIANS set down their gear and settle on the stage. GUIL contemplates silently, then looks up at the PLAYER._

GUIL: How is it that you were able to enter now, anyway?

PLAYER: We haven't entered at all; we're just as abandoned as you are.

GUIL: Not in Hamlet, in our play.

_The PLAYER pauses as though he heard a noise. He then notices the still sleeping ROS._

PLAYER (_avoiding the question_): He doesn't look well.

GUIL: He isn't.

_Thoughtfully, the PLAYER kneels next to ROS and GUIL. He regards ROS with a sort of wonder._

PLAYER: Something he ate?

GUIL: Fever.

PLAYER: Really?

_He makes to feel ROS's forehead, but GUIL slaps him away._

GUIL: Yes, really. I'd be much obliged if you had anything to aid him with, but otherwise I'd rather you stay away from him.

PLAYER (_offended_): Sorry, but in what little we have we don't carry much in the way of medical aid. It doesn't happen much around here, if you know what I mean.

GUIL: No, I don't believe I do.

PLAYER: It isn't written for us to be ill; it isn't a plot point, so of course we are never ill.

GUIL: Well, Cranz is. How do you explain that?

PLAYER: He's willing it.

GUIL: Don't be ridiculous.

PLAYER: I have no desire to be. It's more of a state of spirit, really. Your Rosencrantz has lost hope, is fed up, if you will. He could disappear from the play completely if he were in the right state of mind.

GUIL (_unnerved_): How could you possibly know that? He's only got a fever.

_The PLAYER ignores him and rejoins his troupe. They exchange whispers. Despite his suspicion of the PLAYER's sanity, GUIL is worried there's some truth in his words. He gently shakes ROS._

GUIL: Cranz? Cranz, I need you to wake up.

_ROS finally opens his eyes, moaning. With some difficulty, GUIL helps him sit up and leans ROS on his shoulder, speaking softly and close to him._

GUIL: You know I love you, right?

ROS (_dozing off_): Mmm hmm…

GUIL: And when I told you I'd get us out of this, I meant it, right?

_ROS makes to nod, but stops._

ROS: It's not possible.

GUIL: Yes it is. Remember the last play? I thought you were gone, maybe for good, but you weren't. And you've told me that, back before then, you thought I'd never love you, but I do. (_This makes ROS look up at him, eyes red_.) Do you know what brought us back to reality? Love. We finally admitted our love like we were supposed to and that brought us back from… wherever we were. Or are now.

ROS (_quietly_): And… we already have that, so…

GUIL (_smiling_): Yes. So why are we worrying? We knew how to handle this all along.

_ROS doesn't respond, staring past GUIL in alarm. GUIL glances behind him to see the TRAGEDIANS quickly turning back to their huddle, whispering. _

ROS (_hushed_): Them. (_Clings to GUIL._) I think… I mean, I have this feeling…

GUIL: That they're behind this somehow? I don't know.

_GUIL turns back to them. The TRAGEDIANS wave to him gleefully, smiling, and GUIL waves back. The PLAYER waves to him, also, but GUIL points to him and mouths, 'Not you.' The PLAYER shrugs._

They seem as trapped in this as we are.

ROS: But, I… (_Sighs_.) I don't know.

_Pause._

GUIL: How are you feeling?

ROS: Better.

_GUIL feels ROS's face, gently._

GUIL: You have some color back and… (_He reaches the forehead. GUIL feels it several times in disbelief._) Your fever's gone!

ROS: Well, so it is! I thought something was different.

GUIL: Why didn't you tell me?

ROS: I didn't want to worry you.

GUIL: Worry me-? (_He pauses, and then continues in a lower voice._) Cranz, when we get home, we have some communication issues to discuss.

ROS (_smiles, not quite understanding_): All right.

_GUIL shakes his head, and then remembers something. His eyes show his progression of thought, until they take on a wary and then finally determined look. GUIL jumps up and approaches the PLAYER and his group._

GUIL (_pointing dramatically_): What do you know, Player?

PLAYER (_innocently_): About what?

GUIL: You knew what was happening to Cranz.

PLAYER: I'm merely an experienced actor, good sir.

_During their conversation, the TRAGEDIANS rise and surround ROS and GUIL. ROS grows nervous and jumps up to join GUIL._

GUIL: You know what's going on around here, don't you, Player? I can't think how or why, but-

PLAYER: If you don't mind, I do wish you would stop referring to me as 'Player.' I have a name, you know.

_GUIL is stunned by the proposition._

ROS (_thoughtfully_): No, you don't.

PLAYER: No, I don't.

_The PLAYER and his troupe close in on ROS and GUIL. There's a brief struggle and the result leaves the PLAYER and another TRAGEDIAN wearing GUIL and ROS's coats and cloaks (respectively)._

GUIL (_held back by another player_): You can't-! Did he just-?

ROS: He stole our costumes.

_The other TRAGEDIANS drag ROS and GUIL off stage as their imposters make ready to continue the scene. _

_…And there's no need for the scene to black out; it's already dark backstage._


	4. It Was Written

**It Was Written**

_GUIL: ...Has it ever happened to you that all of a sudden and for no reason at all you haven't the faintest idea how to spell the word – "wife" – or "house"..._

(A/N: I really had trouble starting this chapter, but then I finally just had my Cranz and Guil muses start talking about whatever and wrote it down. Amazingly, there's actually a story in here... somewhere.)

GUIL: So here we are, once again at a loose end. Should have known.

ROS: What are we doing?

GUIL: Absolutely nothing, that's the problem. We have a story, but no sense of where it's going.

ROS: It was rather nice while it lasted.

GUIL: Well, sure, but that's not the point. Look at us; we've been reduced to nothing but lines of dialogue written in graphite on lined paper. Though when the readers see this we won't even be that, we'll be pixels shaped like words on a computer screen. And we don't even have stage directions.

ROS: Well... we just need to think of what we're going to do next. Our costumes are stolen and the Tragedians drag us off-stage and..?

GUIL: –We sit around like idiots for a couple of months trying to continue this story.

ROS (_reflecting_): Sit around like idiots doing nothing... Rings a bell.

GUIL: You don't have to rub it in.

ROS: What we need are some stage directions. (_ROS tries to convince everyone by waving his arms around like an idiot._) ...Well, it's a start.

GUIL: More like an end. We don't have any sense of setting, place or even existence, so we, therefore, have no need for any stage directions. Too much effort and not enough vision.

ROS: But, it's not really a story without any directions–

GUIL: We don't have a story! We used to, but that's all over now. All there is left is us, two muses, collectively just two opposite personalities and a way of speaking, ending up how we always end up.

ROS: Dead?

GUIL: No! Without control of our fate and going around in circles, trapped in art.

ROS: ...I hate that.

GUIL: I'm glad.

ROS: This is a rather disappointing chapter, though, isn't it? It has nothing to do with the story...

GUIL: Oh, but, on the contrary it has everything to do with the story! We're proving a point! ...Or would you rather go over our original plot for this chapter?

ROS (_brightly_): I think I'd like that.

GUIL: All right then. Originally we were going to tie in the movie version of our play and have the Tragedians throw us out of their traveling stage, showing how we were sucked into _Hamlet_ by entering their cart in the first place.

ROS: And that's where we got stuck.

GUIL: Yes. We were even going to end it by having us once again being summoned, but there's no need for that anymore.

ROS: Certainly not. So, now what are we going to do? We have an obligation to finish this story.

GUIL: Not necessarily.

ROS: Well, we started it, didn't we? We can't just stop before we reach that satisfying ending we were aiming for... You know what this means, don't you?

GUIL: What?

ROS: We can't change our fate. We tried, but look where it got us: we're right back where we started.

GUIL: Again... why?

ROS: Because it's a main point, if not _thee_ point, of our play. And no matter how hard we try we can't get around it, because that's a main point, too. It's the main point of the main point.

_There is an epiphany and the chapter suddenly has a setting: a little campsite in the middle of a forest. ROS and GUIL are holding parchment and quills, surrounded by small stacks of even more parchment. The parchment looks very similar to the pieces of script that's always floating around._

ROS (_looking at the quill in his hand_): Well, this is interesting.

GUIL (_throwing down the paper_): I knew this was a stupid idea. We haven't changed anything!

ROS: At least we tried.

GUIL: Disappointing.

_ROS tries to take out a coin but GUIL snatches the bag away from him, throwing it over his shoulder._

None of that!

ROS: But... I...

GUIL: No.

_Pause._

ROS: The sun's going down. It'll be dark soon...

GUIL: No!

_Another pause. Slowly, ROS looks at the horses behind him, then at the parchment, then back at the horses, and finally at the mountain pass behind him that they originally came through._

ROS: What do you suppose is on the other side of that mountain?

GUIL: Probably nothing. Or this forest again.

ROS: Then where'd we come from?

GUIL: Nowhere.

ROS (_with hesitant determination_) Well, we can't just sit around, we need to take action. If we don't have a home, then I'll write us one.

_He scratches onto the parchment with the quill:_ Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Have a Home, _Act 1 Scene 1. ROS turns it over and holds it out for GUIL to see. _

GUIL (_reading it_): ... You wrote it like it's the beginning of a new play.

ROS: Yes, I did. (_He begins stuffing parchment into his pack._)

GUIL: But... what comes next?

ROS: I figured we'd make it up as we go along.

GUIL (_worried_): ... Do we have wives?

ROS: Certainly not.

GUIL: All right, then, let's go.

_They both quickly begin packing up their things and saddling their horses. Suddenly, the sound of music is heard on the wind._

ROS (_listening_): I say...

GUIL: I say let's get out of here.

_They mount their horses and break out in full gallop towards the mountain pass, and hopefully towards a new future, void of scripts._

_Roll credits._

(A/N: I decided I should tie the movie version into the story, now that I've finally seen it.

Also: Thank you reviewers! And a special thank you to Mirabehn for the constructive criticism! It makes me happy for some reason. Now to address it: About them using nicknames, initially they're supposed to have known each other a long time, yet are still confused because they're partly fresh out of the play, but also have done the play a hundred times. So, there's a sense of familiarity between them that's beginning to be realized. And I didn't do any name confusion because I would have just confused myself even more.)


End file.
